Glor, 'Stel and 'Stor
by Captain Clueless the First
Summary: This story features Estel and his two unofficially adopted uncles, Erestor and Glorfindel, or as Estel  'Stel  calls them 'Stor and Glor. A series of vignettes. 'Stor will probably feature more than Glor.
1. Know thy student

_**Disclaimer: Insert LOTR disclaimer here.**_

**_Author's Note:_**

**_This story features Estel as he grows up, and his adopted uncles, Glorfindel or Glor', and Erestor or 'Stor. Featuring also are: Elrond, Linder, the twins and a whole host of supporting characters! AU, because Gilraen doesn't feature._**

**_Vignette Teaser: Know your pr__otégé!_**

_**Erestor's Perspective:**_

I groaned and banged my head once on the desk. I looked at the seven year old in front of me with something akin to despair. I knew Estel was feigning this lack of understanding of the reasons behind the three pronouns 'Me, Myself and I'; so I, in turn was feigning my near-despair. Not that Estel knew it.

He looked straight back at me, utter (but well feigned) bemusement firmly plastered on his face.

"But why do we need three names for the same thing?" he asked confusedly.

"Because though it may seem more sensible to use one," I began, only to be interrupted by my protégé.

"It is!" he said firmly. I arched an eyebrow at his outburst, patiently waiting for the apology that I knew was coming. Sure enough a few moments later, I heard a meek,

"Sorry, 'Stor."

I waved a hand in the air; to some it might be interpreted as a gesture to go away; however, Estel had been quick to adopt me as a very close uncle when he first came here, and had often plagued me as an infant, thus learning all my ways, knew better, and recognised it as a gesture that roughly translated as to "No matter, forgiven". I closed my eyes, wondering what sin I had committed in the sight of Eru, to be afflicted with this boy who in future, would be affectionately nicknamed a 'Limb of Sauron'.

I resumed my explanation.

"There are three, because they all have different places. They all have different spots, and either each word can only fit into its own spot correctly, or all three can."

I looked at my protégé, and sighed as I saw the still cleverly feigned confused face, and now a slightly glazed look in his eyes. I decided that examples should be utilised. I knew Estel was just having a laugh, and I did not begrudge him that; but that did not mean that I was going to let him get all the fun.

"Estel, if someone ran up to you and said, "Myself want water," what would you think?" I asked the boy. Estel frowned for a few moments in thought. I watched him contemplate something; it wasn't _that_ hard a question, surely!

"How old's this person?" he asked me. Then it was my turn to feel bemused.

"Why do you want to know?" I asked.

"Because if the person was younger than myself, I would just think that they do not know what you are trying to teach me. If they were older than me I would think they had not been taught or that they were unfamiliar with whatever language I am speaking. So, if you want only one answer, you have to tell me the age of the person," Estel replied easily.

I banged my head against the desk again, however only partially in exasperation. It really would not do to let the little one see the small, half-delighted, half-annoyed grin on my face. I was annoyed by the stone wall that Estel's grasp of these three words' usage was, yes; but I was also delighted to see the careful thinking and open mind that had been utilised in those few moments of contemplation.

"Let us say the person is a year or two older than you," I provided.

"In that case, I should think that he was not taught or that he was not a native speaker of the tongue we are using," Estel answered. I grinned triumphantly.

"Estel, you know the tenses as well as the next person, and the reasoning behind them; now, your Ada made me your tutor last year did he not?"

"He did," confirmed Estel, wary now - and with good reason! Anyone who knew me remotely well could tell that victorious grins were signs that things were _not good_.

"You said a few moments ago that if someone said "Myself want water", you would think them either unfamiliar with the language being spoken, badly taught or untaught, correct?" I continued, just managing to conceal a grin.

"Yes," confirmed Estel, very wary and uncertain of where I was taking this.

"So, if you do not use the three words 'Me, Myself and I' correctly, you will bring shame upon my reputation as a teacher," I said, masking my grin with a solemn look. Teachers, tutors, mentors, all, heed my words: Know your protégé! It is incredibly useful! Remember the proverb: Knowledge is power!

You see, Estel knew me like the back of his hand; but it was true vice versa too. And neither of us could withstand a guilt trip for long.

Sure enough, a few moments later, I heard a sigh.

"Very well. I confess. I was pretending," Estel sighed. After this, I could not prevent my triumphant grin.

"Ha! I win!" I shouted. Estel's jaw dropped as he realised what I meant.

"You...you lunatic!" he shouted in shock. I grinned, was that the only insult he came up with.

"Damn proud!" I replied. Then a smile formed on his face, and gradually spread until he looked like a ray of Arien, when he suddenly started laughing hysterically. I contemplated the situation, before I started laughing too.

"What is going on here?" came the voices of the twin Elrondions. Neither Estel or I had any hope of stopping laughing, so it was minutes later, when we finally regained control of ourselves, that we found Estel's brothers looking at us with concern. We wiped the tears of mirth from our eyes.

"Oh nothing. Estel was just teaching me something," I said.

"And what was that?" asked Elrohir.

"Glorfindel has told you the saying, 'Know your enemy, yes? Estel has taught me a new saying. Heed my words: know your protégé!" I stated loudly.

Estel, who had looked confused at my saying I was teaching him something, now seemed very pleased.

"Aye, 'Stor. Know your protégé!"

_**The End**_


	2. Instinct

_**Protective**_

_**A/N: At age seven, Estel isn't extremely strong emotionally.**_

_**Season: Winter!**_

_**Featuring: Enchain!Erestor; Balrog-Slayer!Glorfindel, and Bullied!Estel. Slightly clichéd, I grant you.**_

_**Celelach = Silver Flame (Clichéd name? Nah. Only two syllables.)**_

**_Penneth = Little one_**

**_Nethben nin = My l_****_ittle one_**

**__****_Ada = Dad/Daddy_**

**__****_Mellon nin = My friend_**

**__****_Brégelon = Wild River_**

**__****_Lasto a Lalaith nin, mellon nin, lasto a lalaith nin = Listen to my laughter, my friend, listen to my laughter_**

_**Story time!**_

_**

* * *

**_

Erestor halted just outside his study, frowning as the muffled sound from within floated through the door that was barely ajar. It sounded like Estel ... and he was sobbing?

"Oh, Valar," Erestor breathed, opening the door, with icy tendrils of fear creeping up his spine.

"Estel? Whatever is the matter, _penneth_? Are you hurt?" Erestor asked, concern filling his voice, as he ran his eyes over the boy's body, trying to assess him for evident injuries and failing to find any.

Estel looked up, and spying his much loved 'Stor, catapulted himself into the Elf lord's body at chest level, the Elf lord's arms encircling him with a jerk. Regaining his composure now that Estel had not fallen to the floor, Erestor tightened his grip around the child's waist, and sat down on his chair. Estel blinked away a few of his tears and buried his head in Erestor's chest, sobbing out all of his hurt. Tentatively, Erestor lifted one of his hands to the small of Estel's back, and began to rub it soothingly.

"Ai, _nethben_, what has made you hurt so? Shhh, _nethben nin_, cry all you need to," Erestor whispered softly into the child's ear, laying his chin on top of Estel's head.

"B-b-but t-t-tears are shameful!" the boy hiccuped. Erestor frowned at this. He withdrew his head and tilted Estel's chin up so that he could make eye contact.

"You are wrong, nethben; tears are not a sign of weakness. What many do not realise, is that they are a sign of strength and of courage, as well as many other things. Tears do not make us weak. Estel, what causes tears?" he asked, trying to distract the boy from his woe.

The boy's sobs gradually stilled, and the somewhat bloodshot silver eyes focused on Erestor's face.

"Laughter, if the laughing is very hard. Happiness, if someone's very happy. Pain and being afraid, if it's great enough. Grief, if you lose someone or something you love very much," the boy listed off slowly, mulling it over at his own pace.

Erestor smiled a little and nodded.

"Did you know, Estel, that many males are afraid of showing emotion, or the fact that they feel?" Erestor said gently. The boy's eyes widened.

"They are? But why? It's not a bad thing ... well, unless your feeling pain, fear or grief. Don't happiness and laughter come with those?" the boy asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. Erestor chuckled softly, smoothing out the wrinkles on the boy's face with an ink-stained hand (miraculously not leaving a smear of black across the boy's forehead).

"Very perceptive, Estel. Unfortunately, often, many of our gender believe that it is feminine to feel such things as emotion and not hide it," Erestor answered, shaking his head in disapproval.

"... Why?" Erestor's smile widened at the question. Estel's curiosity often exasperated other Elves, but it only served to raise him higher in Erestor's esteem.

"Because many males believe that, for acceptance, it is necessary to appear as masculine they can. This includes not showing emotion, if it can be avoided."

"That seems stupid."

"It is, Estel. It is. However, this relates to my earlier point, that tears are a sign of strength. This fear of showing emotion, I believe, is somewhat tied up with a fear of feeling emotion."

"Why are people afraid of feeling emotion?" asked Estel, feeling slightly confused, and now totally distracted from the source of his earlier crying.

"Emotion can make a person vulnerable; if someone happens to drop their guard around a person who would use them, then the person who dropped their guard is in deep trouble. When someone experiences emotion intensely, then they can be afraid of experiencing it, because sometimes mood swings can be caused by something very trivial. Most commonly, people fear that any emotion will take over them and lead to a breakdown," Erestor answered, with a sad sigh.

"So you see, Estel, tears are a sign of a brave heart; a heart that has been brave enough to take the risk of interaction, of opening to the world that surrounds them. A heart that receives its rewards in laughter, joy, love and loyalty, and is tried and challenged with grief, loss, pain and sadness. A heart that has the courage to feel. Do not be ashamed to weep, Estel, for tears are not evil, nor are they shameful. They are a sign of great courage, that is rarely appreciated," Erestor finished. Estel listened, his eyes wide.

"Now, why were you crying?" the Elf lord asked briskly, reassured the boy he looked upon as a dear nephew, was sufficiently recovered from his crying to talk about it.

"I was playing in some of the gardens with Celelach, when some other Elflings came up to us, and they started saying things. Horrible things. They said that Ada's only reason for raising me is pity, and that Ro, Dan and Ada will abandon me. They said that I was just a," here he took a deep breath in, his eyes shining. "A worthless mortal, a burden, they said," he forced out, one tear slipping out and racing down his cheek.

Erestor took in several deep breaths, trying to contain himself.

Resist the temptation, he told himself. It will frighten Estel out of his wits, if you go and rip the perpetrators from limb to limb, and then dismember them, he reminded himself, clenching and unclenching his fists at a rapid pace.

"Estel," he forced out, his tone one of titanium. "Estel," he continued, softening his voice when he saw the boy flinch, almost kicking himself when he realised that Estel would not recognise that the anger was not directed at him. "There are some things you should know. First, everything those Elflings told you was a complete and utter lie. Your Ada loves you, and he has loved you from the moment he saw you, and the same goes for your brothers. Second, your family, which includes your Ada, your brothers-"

"And you and Glorfindel!" the boy added.

"Indeed? I am pleased. Anyway, Estel, your family would never abandon you; if they had a choice between walking through Ûdun's fires with you, or abandoning you to walk them alone, they would take the first option without a second thought. Finally, my dear boy, you are not a worthless mortal. None of the descendants of Númenor are. You are an intelligent, altruistic boy, who has the potential to help change the world for the better. As for those Elflings, I can only think of one word to describe them," Erestor said the last dismissively. The seven year old grinned.

"What word is that?" he asked eagerly.

"Idiots."

Estel gaped for a few moments as his ears relayed the comment to him but his grey matter temporarily refused to accept it; for acceptance would mean that his 'Stor had just said a mean word! Then he remembered what the Elflings had said to him and he closed his mouth.

"Now, Estel, I believe that I shall postpone my paperwork, and attend to a matter that is somewhat more urgent," Erestor said, a wicked smile conquering his expression. Estel's eyebrows rose and drew together in one movement, making him look unnervingly like his Ada.

"What's that, Stor?" he asked.

Erestor's grin widened, exposing his incisors. "Revenge."

The expression on Estel's face gradually changed from one of shock and slight confusion, to a devious grin.

"What did you have in mind, 'Stor?" Estel asked eagerly. The Elf-lord smiled gently.

"Let us go to the kitchens and ask for some refreshments; there is no blessing in plotting on an empty stomach!" the Elf-lord said, getting up. Estel tightened his hold on Erestor's neck and he scrambled around, rapidly adjusting his grip, until he sat on Erestor's shoulders. The Elf-lord's eyes widened, and he clutched Estel's legs to keep the boy from falling.

"Estel?" Erestor inquired.

"Yes, 'Stor?"

"Why are you on my shoulders?"

"I want a ride," the boy answered.

"Very well. Come now, shall we go down?"

"Aye!" the boy confirmed enthusiastically. Erestor couldn't help but chuckle.

In the kitchens, sans Estel, Erestor quietly requested a plate of biscuits and a cup of tea. One of the kitchen Elves smiled at him.

"Are you hungry today, Lord Erestor?" the Elf inquired.

"The biscuits are mainly for Estel," he clarified. "Please bring them to us in my study," he called, leaving.

Estel took hold of his uncle's hands and dragged him to said room. "Come on, 'Stor!" the boy shouted, trying to drag him along.

"I am, Estel, I am!" the Elf-lord answered, walking faster. As they reached the study, Estel flopped into an armchair in the corner of the room, his sprawling posture making Erestor flinch.

"So, 'Stor, do you have any ideas yet?" asked the boy, flashing an impish grin. Erestor's wolfish grin reappeared, fitting perfectly on his usually sardonic features.

"Tell me, Estel, do these Elflings like snowball fights?" he inquired casually; far too casually for him to truly be so.

"I suppose so. Why?"

"_Excellent_. Very well, Commander; your subordinates will report for duty straight after breakfast tomorrow!" he said in a military tone. Estel's brows skyrocketed.

"Commander? Subordinates? 'Stor, _what in Eru's name,_ are you talking about?"

"My dear Commander ... that is for me to know, and you to find out about tomorrow," he said, gently drumming his fingers on his desktop.

Estel huffed. "Fine! Keep your secrets ... can I read a book?"

Erestor arched a brow in play. "Why, yes, Estel, I do believe you are capable of the awe-inspiring feat of reading," he mocked. Estel rolled his eyes and slowly arose from the armchair, ambling over to the low shelf of books for him this year. 'Stor changed the books on that shelf every year, to "keep up with your maturity".

Erestor looked at the boy, browsing thoughtfully, perfectly content for the moment and he smiled softly.

_Relax, Estel; relax, sit back and let Erestor do the talking. This is __my__ area of expertise. I am a master of tactics; after all, I can beat a certain arrogant, rather pompous Vanya any day,_ he thought.

Erestor silently slid a panel to one side, exposing an entry to a hidden passage, quickly shutting it again. He navigated the paths with ease; they connected the three studies of Erestor, Glorfindel and Lord Elrond, to save time, but when they had guests or the twins were around, they used the paths.

Erestor knocked at the panel.

"Come in, please," Glorfindel called, a note of desperation and relief mixed evident in his tone. Erestor complied, gingerly entering his friend's study and closing it behind him. He looked around, expression quickly transforming from slight distaste to awe.

"You tidied your study," he said, his eyes wide and wondering. Glorfindel snickered at his friend's expression.

"I did indeed, mellon nin. I was getting rather tired of your disdainful expressions and calling it a 'war zone'," he remarked, smirking. Erestor adjusted his stance, standing with feet shoulder-with apart, and hands clasped together behind his back.

"How may I be of service?" asked Glorfindel, not noting the military posture.

"I do not require the services of Glorfindel; I have need of the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin," Erestor replied formally.

Glorfindel's bemused expression cleared, and a curious expression replaced it.

"Ah? Tell me more, mellon nin. I am all ears," he answered. Erestor drew up a chair, and began to explain the circumstances and outline his plan. By the time he was finished, the duo wore matching smirks.

"So, can you be ready in time?" Erestor asked.

"Of course. My, my, Erestor, you are quite the tactician!" Glorfindel complimented.

Erestor's smirk became even more smug. "Oh, I learnt by beating the 'best'," he said, briefly winking cheekily at Glorfindel. Surprisingly, Erestor did have a childish side; one that never got as much Vitamin D as it needed.

The Vanya leapt up. "Why, you stubborn, persnickety, priggish-" his rant was cut off by some papers being thrown into his face, and he heard the sound of a pair of feet dashing away, accompanied by laughing words.

"Lasto a lalaith nin, mellon nin, lasto a lalaith nin!" Erestor called as he ran.

* * *

The next morning, Estel was waiting in Erestor's study, pacing the perimeter of the room in excitement, the thought that Erestor might have forgotten never occurring to him; Erestor had never, ever forgotten when he had promised Estel something. After a good five minutes of pacing, he sprawled back into the armchair.

"I wonder what 'Stor has planned?" he mused. He yelped in surprise, as a hand seemingly shot out of nowhere, catching his wrist in a surprisingly gentle grip.

"What do we have here? An aspiring warrior, caught off his guard?" drawled a familiar voice. Estel grinned.

"'Stor! What is it?" he asked, with the utter enthusiasm that only a child could display. Erestor rose up from his crouch in the shadows near the arm chair, eliciting a gasp and an expression of pure shock from Estel as he took in his attire. Did black leggings and black tunics come in liquid forms? They must, for how else could 'Stor have put on such a tight-fitting garment? The outfit, complete with black running shoes, was complemented by a black substance spread all over Erestor's face.

"How do I look, Estel? Terrifying?" asked Erestor, doing a turn, and baring his teeth.

"Utterly," the little boy confirmed.

Suddenly, there was a tattoo being played at one of the panelled walls.

"Oh, that will be your other ally, Commander," Erestor winked at Estel.

Really, it just felt so damned good to be bad! He slipped over to the panel, and slid it across.

"What in the name of Elbereth, is that?" asked Estel, in disbelief. Erestor cocked his head to one side.

"What do you mean, Estel?" he asked.

"You have a secret passage?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, it connects our studies and it also connects each of them to your Ada's," Erestor said.

"Very useful for when you want to hide your appearance," commented a merry voice behind them.

"Ah, there you are, Glorfindel!" exclaimed Erestor. "I was wondering if you would ever get here!"

Estel's eyes widened as he took in the appearance of the golden lord. He was in full golden battle armour, enormous broadsword sheathed at his left hip, his helmet held in the crook of the left elbow, and he had a warm-looking golden cloak embroidered with tiny, exquisite flowers. He looked majestic, thoroughly imposing, and the epitome of the warrior.

Estel's eyes lingered upon each Elf in turn, trying to decide on who was more terrifying.

Glorfindel was the blinding flash of light that made the darkness flee, the note of triumph in the horns, the powerful streaks of dawn that banished the paralysing fears of the night that sometimes plagued the dreams of people, the light that Nazgul fled before.

Erestor was the silver tail of the rocket just prior to explosion, the garrotte in the alley, the throwing knife in the back, the dagger that slit the jugular. He was the poison slipped into the drink, the fire that erupts at midnight.

Not much of a contest, really.

"Erestor's more terrifying," Estel said at last. The Elf grinned.

"I try, Estel, I try," he said. He ducked into the passage. "Come. There is a secret route which we can use to get out of the building. Estel, take us to the gardens, when we are out."

A few hours later, after Erestor had told Estel what to say, informed Celelach, an Elfling about the mortal equivalent of eleven who had taken Estel under her wing, about the plan, he and Glorfindel had dug a nest for them in the snow.

"Erestor, are you sure about this?" Glorfindel asked, shivering.

"Trust me. Soon enough, our body heat will heat the snow, and the snow will insulate from the wind. In the meantime, did you check Estel had his warm clothes on?" Erestor asked.

"Calm yourself, naneth, I checked," Glorfindel jibed. Erestor smiled acceptingly of the jab; it was true.

"Hush, the others are approaching," he urged. They both fell silent.

"Hello, little adan. How are you today? Still pitiful as ever?" a taunting voice asked Estel. Erestor clenched his fists. He recognised Brégelon's voice, an Elfling whose father often disapproved of Elrond, mainly due to his bloodline.

"Brégelon, I have been expecting you. I challenge you to a snowball war. Unless, of course, the big bad Elfling is scared of the little human," Estel shot back.

"I accept your offer," Brégelon answered, he and his four friends reaching down and beginning to form their snowballs.

"Wait!" cried Celelach.

"Yes, Celelach, what is it? Are you going to drag your little friend out, and make him back down?" asked Brégelon, amused.

Celelach smirked. "On the contrary. I thought I would give you the chance to surrender," she replied. Brégelon threw back his head showily and laughed, long and loud.

"Oh, Celelach. You have such a high opinion of this adan, do you not? No, we shall not surrender."

She smirked again. "Bad decision. It's time you saw what you were up against," she said. "Now!"

Glorfindel sprang lithely up, landing with his feet shoulder width apart, one hand drumming the hilt of his sheathed sword.

"By Elbereth," one of the Elflings breathed.

Then, slowly, Erestor arose, almost uncoiling himself like a snake. His first snowballs were already prepared. They were filled with huge quantities of tiny pebbles.

"Rhaich!" swore one of the Elflings.

"Attack!" cried Estel and Celelach, the foursome releasing a quick opening volley.

"Run!" cried Brégelon.

The adult Elves, Elfling and boy ran forward releasing volleys that struck true, credits to their releasers' aims.

Half an hour later, Brégelon and his band of Elflings swore to never bother Estel again. Erestor had shadowed them, without the others, to see the result. He smiled as he heard the cursing, the sound sweet music to his ears. His protective instinct had been useful, after all.

The End

**_Ending author's note_**

**_Question #1 : Who do you think is more terrifying? Erestor or Glorfindel?_**

**_Question #2 : This is a girl question. Girls, who's more attractive? Enchain!Erestor or Balrog-Slayer!Glorfindel._**


	3. Soldier

Soldier

Chapter 1: Drink

Erestor sighed, stretching and then turning his attention back to the scrap of parchment before him. On it, written in his neat, flowing script, were the names of the two Dunedain who had died. It was the largest-scale skirmish they had fought against the Wargs, who were coming dangerously close to the Shire's borders. Thankfully, they were victorious. The Dunedain and the Elves who had accompanied them were celebrating. The Dunedain and Elves were noble, good, and courageous. They were also raucous soldiers who liked to celebrate a good victory with alcohol. Erestor, however, much as he liked such celebrations (Eru knew they were better than balls or dances), was working because he felt that the time during the celebration was the only time he had available to complete the work in. He was wrong, but not many people could find him to tell him so. This time, on the other hand…

"Erestor! We have fought, we are victorious, why are you not celebrating!" barked Glorfindel. "Why aren't you drinking something that could strip rust off my armour?"

"Are you always this indelicate when you're drunk?" he asked amused.

"Are you always severe when others are revelling? No, actually, never mind, that's rhetorical, you always are," he replied. He dropped to the ground next to him, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Anyway, there is another matter beside the one of you being inappropriately tight-arsed. Our hearts may be braced for the grief to come, but young Humans are different, remember? Our Estel will be taking the losses hard. I suggest we go pay him a soldier's visit."

Oh, of course. The wonderful, kind, compassionate, handsome, idiotic boy would be replaying every one of the tactical decisions in slow motion in his head and condemning every one of them as a foolish blunder that led to two Dunedain lives being placed onto his shoulders. Aragorn he may be to the Rangers of the North and many others, but to Erestor and Glorfindel, he was forever and always their Estel. Erestor sighed. He wasn't really best suited to this, Glorfindel had always done it before with Estel's ancestors but he seemed to think Erestor's presence would go down well…

Erestor stood, Glorfindel helping him up. "Come on," he said. They strode off in search of Estel, with a very large skin of alcohol dangling from Glorfindel's hand. Despite what many thought, drinking was a very important part of becoming a soldier.

They eventually found themselves in front of the command tent where Estel slept. Slightly bigger than the others to set him apart equally slightly, it wasn't terribly impressive. They found Estel hunched over the makeshift desk, his eyes staring at nothing. Glorfindel put the flask down on the desk.

"Estel! Awake and drink!" he commanded. The boy didn't register the words, but the head attached to the shock of unruly black hair slowly looked up and the eyes in the face focused.

"Hm? Oh. Hello, Glorfindel. I suppose you're here to tell me 'hurrah' and 'great battle' and 'good job' and all that," said Estel, his tone a cocktail of barely-contained abject misery, tremendous guilt and thunderous fury. Glorfindel, who had had very little intention of saying such things, replied quickly: "Hurrah, good job, great battle. Now drink."

"So that I may forget?" Estel growled.

Erestor flinched at the rebuke in his tone. Glorfindel didn't.

"Drink to forget? Bad policy, Estel. Never, ever drink to forget the valour of those who are dead. Drink to them, in their honour. Talking of whom," Glorfindel picked up the flask, uncapped it and raised it. "To Our dead who are Home," he said softly, drinking and swallowing a single mouthful. Erestor found his eyes stinging and his throat swelling. Glorfindel handed him the flask and he found a dash of delight being thrown into the mix of grief and sorrowful joy, as he finally identified the scent coming from the flask: Haradrim Aquila.

"May We be reunited at the End of all things," he said, his voice hoarse and rough. He turned the flask slightly and drank. The liquid burned and seared and it satisfied him to feel it. The liquid was for none but the crème de la crème of brazen drinkers. He set the flask down before Estel.

"This is the part where you take the flask, say, "May Our grief not hinder you from your journey on" and take a swig," Glorfindel said.

"May Our grief not hinder you from your journey on," repeated Estel tersely. But he did not drink. "If you will, my teachers, I will return to my silent vigil."

"If it were a silent vigil, I'd respect that and leave. This isn't, though. It's a silent opportunity for you to beat yourself up, for you to drown yourself in a lake of self-doubt, self-pity and self-hate, and I do not respect that. So, Estel Elrondion, swallow your adolescent pride and listen to me. There were no flaws in your plans; it was a good strategy. There was nothing wrong with our tactics. This is a long, long war. Warring and fighting and soldiering and being a Ranger of the North: these things involve bloodshed. Lives are lost. No-one would have it any other way," said Glorfindel.

"There is more than enough death in the world. I am loath to see more," said Estel, and for a moment, Glorfindel wished to strangle Elrond for training this boy in the ways of the Healer. His training meant he viewed death in general as an absolute evil.

"You would begrudge your men their well-earned journey? That is not your right, nor your place, nor your duty. If Mandos calls, then how should you, Estel, hope of the Dunedain and Men, stop him? You have no control over what Vairë will weave in her tapestry of Fate," said Erestor firmly.

"They, however, are my responsibility and now they are gone!" cried Estel.

"Both true. Soldiers die, Estel. Soldiering is no gentle trade, and often it will end in death. All mortals die, sooner or later, as do plenty of the Firstborn. If you cannot accept that, how can you lead? How could your soldiers follow?" said Erestor.

"Now, drink!" commanded Glorfindel, handing the flask. Estel obeyed with alacrity. He then choked and coughed.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Aquila, from Far Harad," replied Erestor, smiling slyly. "Best or worst liquor in all of Arda, depending on your perspective. Nothing in between."

"By the third round, you won't taste it! By the fourth, you'll enjoy it," Glorfindel said brightly. He reached into a deep tunic pocket and brought out another flask.

"By the fourth round, I shall be blind," responded Estel. However, Erestor pressed him with a hard glare and he took another swallow smartly. Glorfindel laughed richly as he threw back his head and drank for a few long moments. "Well, what do you know?" mused Estel. "This gets better with repetition, I think."

"There is only one thing that makes me ashamed to stand with you, Estel. Do not fear, it is a failing your elder brothers shared as well."

"Oh?" enquired Estel, eyebrows raised.

"Lucifer's balls, Estel, it's your cursing. All this "Sweet Eru!" stuff, it's as if your grandmother were listening to you."

"Erestor, what say you?"

"On cursing, Estel? On the battlefield and with an army, this is the rule: Curse like a soldier or not at all."

"But we can work on that later. Now come on! There's a bonfire out there, a few good men and more liquor than just Aquila than going round," Glorfindel replied, grinning.

"Maybe I can find some decent wine?" muttered Estel hopefully.

Erestor's snort was epic in the amount of derision it expressed. "Good luck with that."

~Presto Finito!~

Well, if you're of a mind folks, review! I'm off.

Love,

Wing Commander Arnica Vinyaya


End file.
